Kitty, Kitty
by phoenixstrike
Summary: HP/DM eventual slash. When Harry's Auror partner is hit by an unknown spell during a mission, Harry finds himself in charge of looking after a very adorable, if somewhat petulant, cat. Fluffy, angst-free eventual Drarry. DH-compliant/EWE.
1. Chapter 1

_Harry Potter is © J. K. Rowling and all other companies with rights to the HP universe. I own none of this copyright, and this work of fanfiction makes no money._

**Pairings:** Harry/Draco (eventually), implied Ron/Hermione  
**Rating:** R  
**Warnings:** Non explicit m/m slash, some bad language. Nothing much in this one :)  
**A/N: **This story was inspired by Bellatrix, my 6-month-old kitten that we recently acquired from the same place that Harry's cat keeps ending up in the beginning of this fic. This little story came to me whilst I was in the cattery, choosing our new cat.  
This story is fully intended to be a light hearted, humorous story. Fluff in abundance! I don't know the exact length yet, but it's not going to be exceptionally long. 20-30k seems about right.

A little note: I've also recently uploaded a story called Invisible to thehexfiles and AO3. It's unsuitable to upload to ffnet, however due to its explicit content, but if you want to read it then you can find the link to my other accounts in my ffnet profile.

* * *

**Part One**

Harry pushed open the glass door of the Stubbington Ark RSPCA centre and hesitated slightly before entering. It was the fourth time this week he'd received a call from them, telling him that, yet again, his cat had been found soaking wet and in the garden of an elderly neighbour miles from its registered address, and could he please come and collect him at his earliest convenience? He sighed, unsure whether to feel exasperated or amused.

"Hi, my name is Harry Potter," he said to the now familiar-looking girl with hair plaits behind the desk. "Um, you have my cat? Er, again?"

"Yes, Mr Potter," the girl- Hannah, according to her name tag with a picture of a Labrador on it- replied, somewhat irritably, Harry thought. But then again, it was Friday, and he'd been here every day since Monday with the exception of Wednesday. He was fed up with the blasted animal too. "I'll get someone to take you through."

"Thanks," he said, and sat down on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting area. Five minutes later, a young man with a stupid pointy goatee beard appeared. It was the same man who had shown Harry to his cat last time. And the time before that, too. Bugger.

"I was extremely surprised when we had a call from a concerned resident, reporting the cat in her garden again, Mr Potter," said the man. "This is a new record for us. Having the same cat picked up and brought here four times in a lifetime is a lot; four in a week is unheard of."

"I'll pay for his care, of course," Harry replied quickly, pulling out a Muggle wallet filled with notes that Kingsley Shacklebolt had given him for emergencies. He wondered whether this counted as an emergency or not. The man- Chris- held up a hand.

"That's not necessary, sir. Just please keep the animal at the address his collar has him registered at. Which is thirty miles from here. If he comes into us again, I'm afraid we may have to begin proceedings to confiscate the animal."

"OK," Harry said, inwardly wondering how many people he would have to Obliviate to make forget that he was ever here at all. There was Chris, Hannah, the girl who worked on Monday... "Can I get my cat now, please?"

Chris led Harry to the now familiar cattery located a short walk from the main entrance. He began to walk past the pens of cats until he reached the pen in which his cat was located.

Situated inside was an extremely pissed-off looking pure-white, slender cat, sat stiffly on the ground, pointedly ignoring the cat bed and climbing post with a most haughty, petulant expression on its face. It was twitching its tail slightly in great annoyance, and looked as if it might scratch anyone who were foolish enough to put their hand in with it. It was clearly thoroughly fed up. Harry bit back the laugh that was threatening to boil over.

"Hello, Draco, did you miss me?" he cooed at the cat, and the cat turned a pair of angry grey eyes to him. Harry was quite positive that the cat was glaring. Chris opened the cage and scooped the cat out of his pen.

"Unusual name for a cat," he commented. Harry sniggered.

"Yeah, well, he's an unusual sort of cat," he said. "OK, _Draco_, into your basket." He held open the door of the wicker cat basket that had now become an essential item to keep shrunken down in his mokeskin pouch. The cat refused to get in. "Oh come on, kitty." He picked the cat up and scratched its ears. The cat purred almost in spite of itself, and reluctantly got into the basket. Harry closed the door.

"You know, that cat is not neutered. We could do it for you here for forty quid," Chris said. Draco hissed from his basket, and Harry somehow managed to keep his face straight.

"Thanks, but I don't think he'd like that too much. Besides, he's not really a fan of the female cats, if you know what I mean. You don't need to worry," Harry replied, deadpanned, and took a moment to enjoy the confused look on Chris' face. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, and the fact that Kingsley was more than likely going to give him a bollocking yet again for this, he couldn't deny that this whole thing was rather amusing. "I'll, er, be going now then, shall I?"

Ten minutes later, and after a lot of paperwork and apologies, Harry emerged from the Ark, complete with feline. He waited until he was sure he was out of earshot, then uttered to the cat, "Malfoy, I'm going to fucking kill you." He dashed off the path and into the hedgerow and, once he was certain they were alone, he cast a privacy ward around them both and opened the cage; the cat immediately sprung from it. Seconds later there stood naked a five-foot-eleven-inches tall man where the cat had been, looking as arrogant as it was possible to look when one was cupping their genitals in a desperate attempt for modesty and wearing a red velvet collar (complete with an Automatic Extension Charm so it didn't choke him), name tag and bell. Harry pulled out a shrunken set of Auror robes from his pouch, resized them, and then handed them to Malfoy.

"Potter, I-" Malfoy began, but Harry cut him off.

"Tell me, Malfoy, what part of 'Stealth and Tracking' did you not fully understand?" he snapped, as Malfoy yanked the collar over his head and pulled on the robes. Harry was satisfied to note that Malfoy looked incredibly flustered after his little visit yet again to the cattery; his cheeks were tinged pink with what Harry guessed was embarrassment. He reached into his pouch once more and retrieved Malfoy's wand, handing it to him. "All you had to do was lie low in the rose bushes for an hour and try to gather some evidence, and you couldn't even manage to do that right. Kingsley's going to have our arses for this, you know." He pulled the Muggle woollen jumper from his own body and pulled on his own set of Auror robes. "Let's get this over with, then." And with a crack, they both Apparated to the Ministry.

"…fourth time this week!" Kingsley yelled. "I really should pull you both from the case, you know. I cannot successfully bring Brockway and Peterson down if the two Aurors I'm relying upon to gather evidence for me is a pair of blundering, blithering buffoons!" He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. Harry thought he looked tired. He knew the feeling.

"A couple of gophers would have made a better job of this case than you two so far," Kingsley said eventually. "It's been weeks and we've got nowhere. I cannot have precious Auror time devoted to incompetent employees who keep needing to be rescued from animal shelters because they cannot keep themselves hidden enough to even escape the attention of eighty-six-year-old Muggles whilst supposedly hiding in their garden." Harry gave Malfoy a smug expression, not missed by Kingsley. "And you, Potter- you've been trailing Brockway now for a fortnight! What have you learnt?" The smugness slipped from Harry's face instantly.

"I've got it all in my files, sir," he said, somewhat sulkily. He really didn't want to be taken off this case. Brockway and Peterson were two known petty criminals in the wizarding world, both having spent time in Azkaban in the past for thievery and fraud. The Ministry now suspected that they were involved in producing illegal hallucinogenic potions and supplying them to patrons in the new 'trendier' wizarding pubs that had opened in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. Harry and Malfoy had been assigned a suspect each, and their role was to find out as much about them as they could. Harry had been assigned to Brockway, whilst Malfoy had been given Peterson. OK, so Harry had not managed to find any concrete evidence as such, but he hadn't been a complete imbecile. He'd found a list of plausible suspects that were potentially linked to the case, and even had the names of a few witches and wizards who had taken the potion and were prepared to talk, in return for immunity from prosecution. It was a damn sight more than Malfoy had achieved, anyway; Malfoy's list of 'achievements' seem to consist of lying in the rose bush in the garden next to Peterson's house and spying on him that way, before getting caught by a concerned old lady who was worried that the 'poor little kitty' was going to freeze to death in the harsh January weather. It was unfair that Harry's reasonable progress was completely hindered by his useless twat of a partner.

"You know, if this was Robards in charge of this investigation, he'd have removed you both as soon as Malfoy was caught the first time," Kingsley said. He sighed deeply. "You're both deeply lucky that Malfoy's Animagus status is top secret and not even Robards is aware of it, meaning I'm in charge of this case." He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Against my better judgement, I'm giving you one more chance. This is your _final_ chance, your final warning. If, by this time next week, I have no firm evidence, I'll have no choice but to remove you both and assign Lancelot and Sydney to the case."

"Thank you, Kingsley," Harry said, whilst Malfoy nodded with a stiff, curt jerk of his head. Malfoy was well aware that the only reason he was granted permission to work alongside Harry was because he was an Animagus. It was supposed to be the Ministry's secret weapon on this case, the ultimate disguise; both Malfoy and Harry were very aware, however, that so far Malfoy had screwed up far too many times.

"I won't say 'you're welcome', because I don't yet know if you are," Kingsley replied, but Harry thought he could see a small smile amongst the weariness. "Just don't let me down on this, OK? Harry, I want you to work with Malfoy for the next couple of days. I can't trust him not to end up back in the RISPA, or whatever the Muggles call it. Now, why don't you go and speak to some of your witnesses or something." Harry recognised the dismissal for what it was and left the office, Malfoy trailing behind him.

* * *

By Monday, Harry was in a bad mood. Keen to prove to Kingsley that he wasn't useless, he'd worked all weekend, even cancelling Sunday dinner with Ron and Hermione to do so. Malfoy had joined him on Sunday, and the pair had worked tirelessly until the middle of the night, before returning to their homes to wash and grab a few hours' sleep before starting all over again. Harry was now tired, grumpy, and hungry. He was also cold.

"Bloody Brockway," he mumbled to himself as he emerged from 'Tarantallegra', the newest dance club in Diagon Alley, where it was believed Brockway's associates had been dealing the previous night. The owner had called in the Aurors after he became suspicious when a patron had begun acting bizarrely, but by the time the team had arrived, the patron had gone. Harry had been to interview the owner, but he'd not managed to get much useful information. Wizards needed a form of surveillance, he thought to himself again, something not unlike Muggle CCTV cameras. It would solve a lot of problems. Harry vowed to speak to Kingsley about it again next time he was in the Auror Office. He popped into a café and grabbed himself a hot, juicy bacon sandwich with ketchup and a large black coffee in a polystyrene cup to take away, not having time for anything to eat before starting work that morning, then Apparated away to a park near to Peterson's house in Winchester. He sat down on a nearby bench and began to attack his breakfast with gusto.

A faint pop in the distance some time later told him that somebody had just Apparated into the park. Harry looked in the direction of the noise and saw it was Malfoy, who was standing in a patch of thick trees. Harry checked his watch; Malfoy was late. Harry watched Malfoy as he looked surreptitiously around for early morning dog walkers and joggers before transforming into his Animagus form. A minute later, Harry was joined on the bench by the pure white cat. It sniffed hopefully at the bacon in Harry's sandwich and make a small mewing noise whilst staring at him with wide, pleading grey eyes. Harry grinned, ignored him, and took a large bite, letting some bacon grease drip down his chin, which he licked off with a deliberately exaggerated groan of delight. The cat hissed in annoyance and extended its claws threateningly. Harry laughed and took another bite of his sandwich.

"That was a waste of time this morning," he told Malfoy slyly, between bites. "The owner didn't notice anyone other than the girl herself acting oddly. I got no names, no descriptions. Nothing. I'll go back tonight when the club's open and talk to some of the regulars." Malfoy let out a small 'meow' to show he was listening. "Give me two secs to finish this, then we'll go to Peterson's." He ate the rest of his sandwich quickly (taking pity on Malfoy and giving him a piece of bacon, which earned him a loud purr as a reward) and downed his still-too-hot coffee. Then, with a reluctant Malfoy in his arms, he threw his Invisibility Cloak over them both, and Apparated the short distance to the street in which their suspect lived.

As soon as they landed, Malfoy removed himself from Harry's arms, ducked out of the Cloak, and stalked up to Peterson's front door, then disappeared around the back into the garden. It was clearly the only magical dwelling in the area; unnoticed by the Muggles, Harry could clearly detect the shimmering of wards around the property, and sensed the presence of a Muggle-Repelling Charm. He slowly made his way around the property, casting subtle detection spells. Just then, Malfoy came sprinting around the corner. He gave an urgent meow in the general direction he knew Harry, currently invisible, was, and darted off back towards the garden again. Harry followed, and as soon as he turned the corner, he could see what had gotten Malfoy so animated. There, towards the far end of the garden, was a small greenhouse, protected by an all-weather atmospheric charm. Harry had visited the property with Malfoy on Friday afternoon, after rescuing him from the cattery and receiving the bollocking from Kingsley, and the greenhouse definitely had not been visible then. Harry concluded that it must have been warded from view before. And if it was visible now, it could only mean one thing.

The greenhouse was currently in use.

Harry, Cloak firmly in place still, made his way across the lawn, being careful not to make his footsteps heard on the harsh morning frost which lay on the grass. Malfoy was already inside the greenhouse; Peterson was not currently there but the door had been left open. Harry watched as Malfoy, nose far more sensitive in his Animagus form than it was as a human, began sniffing all the plants and mewing softly at some of them. Excitement bubbled in Harry's stomach. Was this where Peterson and Brockway were growing the ingredients for their illegal potion? Was this finally the break Harry and Malfoy had been looking for? He began to take a close look at the plants that Malfoy had responded to. Asphodel, silverweed, Star Grass… all three were known ingredients in the illegal potion. _We've got them_, Harry thought in triumph.

"Well well well, it's a little kitty cat. Ain't you a bootiful thing, huh?" Harry froze in place at the voice. It belonged to Brockway- after weeks of trailing the man, Harry was certain he knew his voice- and Harry turned as silently as he could towards the man. He looked on in extreme caution, his hand on his wand in his pocket, as Brockway strode across to Malfoy and bent down. He extended a hand out towards his white fur, his yellowing, tobacco-stained fingers just inches from it. _Don't lose your head, Malfoy,_ Harry willed. _They have no possible way of knowing who you are. Just keep calm. We're finally getting some decent, concrete evidence against these two. _He held his breath. Malfoy hissed in warning and backed up. Brockway chuckled.

"I ain't gonna hurt ya. Come 'ere." He made to grab Malfoy, and Malfoy struck. He sank his sharp feline teeth into Brockway's hand, with such force that even Harry winced. Brockway howled in pain and drew his hand back with a jerk. Harry could see several puncture wounds that were dribbling blood onto the stone floor of the greenhouse.

"Ow! You fucking furry bastard!" Brockway yelled, and drew his wand. With a bang, the greenhouse door slammed shut, trapping both Harry and Malfoy inside. Harry watched Malfoy run and hide underneath one of the shelves. He was still debating whether to draw his wand or not. He glanced out of the window and internally groaned; Peterson was coming out of the back door and making his way across the garden. He made his decision; he was going to Disarm Broackway, find Malfoy, and Disapparate out of there as quickly as possible. He took a step forward, preparing to cast. And stood on a twig. It gave an audible crack, and Brockway whipped round to the source of the sound. A nasty look of dawning crossed his face as Harry swore violently under his breath.

"_Homenum Revelio,_" he said. A sneer crossed his face. "Interestin'. Very interestin'." He turned to the shelf where Malfoy was hiding. "There's two of ya in here. You ain't just a pretty cat, are ya? And your mate, huh? Where's he hidin'?"

Three things happened simultaneously then. Peterson came into the greenhouse, and left the door wide open. As he did so, Malfoy pelted for the door, and Harry pulled off his Cloak, wand in hand and trained on Brockway. He was gratified to see the colour drain from Brockway's face when he saw exactly who stood before him.

"Aurors! Drop your wand!" he commanded, and Brockway did so immediately. He may have been a petty criminal, and had even served previous time in Azkaban, but clearly not even he was stupid enough to duel Harry Potter, vanquisher of the Dark Lord. Harry Summoned the wand to him with a flick of his own, and pocketed it inside his robes, before binding the man in conjured ropes. He had no time to relish in his victory, however, because Brockway called to Peterson, "Stop that effing cat! It's an Animagus!"

Peterson dived back out into the garden, baring his wand, jets of amber light pouring from its tip. Harry ran out after him. He aimed his wand at Peterson, the Full Body-Bind on his lips, when Peterson cried out, "_Felis Aeternum!" _

There was another jet of amber light, and this time the spell hit its mark: Malfoy gave a meow of terror then froze, just as Harry bellowed, "_Petrificus Totalus!" _

Harry's spell hit its target squarely in the back, and he toppled over, falling face first onto the grass with a dull thud. With Peterson now immobile, and Brockway incarcerated in ropes, Harry ran to the bush, under which the terrified and trembling form of Malfoy was hiding. Harry tried to pick him up, deeply concerned for his health after the unknown spell had hit, but Malfoy back away, hissing and trying to scratch with his razor-sharp claws.

"Malfoy, it's me," Harry said. He reached out again, and the cat meowed in fear, its white fur standing up on end. "Hey, Draco," Harry said, softly this time. "It's OK."

Whether it was the gentle tone of his voice, the use of his first name, or what, Harry didn't know, but it worked; Malfoy tentatively sniffed the back of the hand that Harry offered, and visibly calmed. Harry managed to coax him out from the bush and he scooped the cat up into his arms. He felt its tiny body relax in his arms, and quickly checked the cat over, searching for damage from Peterson's mystery spell. There didn't seem to be any physical injuries.

"Change back," Harry said, after his examination was complete. "This place is hidden from Muggle eyes. And we have two suspects we need to get into Auror custody urgently. Plus I think someone at St Mungo's needs to look you over and find out what that spell you were hit with was."

"Mew," Malfoy replied. He began to purr and rubbed his cheek against Harry's.

"Yeah, I'm happy we've finally got them too," Harry said, laughing. "But I need you back as a human to Side-Along Peterson to the Ministry. Come on, Malfoy." This time Malfoy licked at a small patch of dry skin just below his bottom lip with a wet, rough tongue, before nudging him with a moist nose. He began to knead Harry's chest with his paws, his claws prickling Harry's skin as Malfoy flexed and retracted them repeatedly. A horrible dawning feeling of dread came over Harry. The spell… surely it didn't-

"Malfoy, turn back," Harry said, his voice growing urgent. "For fuck's sake, stop messing around and become you again. Now." The cat simply looked at him, grey eyes fixed onto his, head cocked slightly to the side. He yawned, then rested his soft feline head against Harry's chest, and closed his eyes. Harry gulped. He knew now what the spell Peterson has cast did. It had somehow, inexplicably, not only trapped Malfoy in his Animagus form, but seemed to have given him all the behaviours and mannerisms of a feline. For all intents and purposes, Draco Malfoy was a bloody cat. And Harry didn't have the faintest idea how to reverse the spell.

_Oh, bugger_.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for the reviews and alerts on the first part!_

* * *

**Part Two**

Harry stood rigid in the garden for several minutes, unsure what to do. Whichever way he looked at it, he was in an extremely unusual situation. He had two suspects incarcerated and ready for transfer to the Ministry, and one sound asleep pussy cat who was formerly his Auror partner and schoolboy enemy, curled up snugly in his arms. He was trying hard not to panic about that just yet. In the end, Harry decided he wouldn't leave Malfoy alone in this state and, unwilling to Apparate with cat and criminal, he raised his wand, thought of the moment he'd qualified as an Auror four years previously, and cried, "_Expecto Patronum!" _

The silvery, translucent stag burst from Harry's wand.

"Go to Kingsley Shacklebolt," Harry told it. "Tell him I'm at Octavius Peterson's address and that I have detained two suspects and need his help. Tell him to come alone." The stag bowed its head as if in understanding and disappeared. Five minutes later the Minister for Magic Apparated into the garden. He saw Harry quickly and walked over to him.

"Harry, what's going on?" Kingsley said. Harry could almost see the man's brain working; Kingsley glanced at the Petrified form of Peterson, then peered into the greenhouse and saw Brockway, secured in Harry's ropes. His gaze fell to the cat who was still sound asleep. "And why in the name of Merlin is Draco Malfoy curled up asleep in your arms?"

"Ah, about that," Harry said. "Kingsley, Peterson hit Malfoy with a spell. I don't know what it was but it seems to have trapped him in his Animagus form. He can't change back. But, almost worse than that, is he seems to actually _be _a cat right now, rather than a wizard." Kingsley's eyes widened. He stared at Malfoy, then closed his eyes. The situation seemed to be causing him mental anguish. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and Harry suspected that the Minister was desperately trying not to swear. Eventually he looked up, and sighed deeply.

"Right," he said. "I'll get these two into Auror custody, then we'll discuss what to do with that pillock there, OK?" He bound Peterson in his own set of ropes, then released him from the Body-Bind Curse. He disappeared into the greenhouse, emerged with a defeated-looking Brockway, grabbed them both with his hands, and Disapparated. Twenty minutes later, he returned.

"They're in the cells," Kingsley said. "I'll need you there this afternoon though, Harry. You need to fill out an incident report. Although I'll interview them for you, and demand Peterson tells us the counter-spell for Malfoy." He looked around at the greenhouse. "Potions ingredients in there, I take it?" Harry nodded. Kingsley smiled. It wasn't a totally happy smile, but it was kind and, Harry thought, held a certain pride.

"You did very well with both of those berks, Harry," Kingsley said in the end. "I'm just sorry that you've been lumbered with Malfoy in the process."

That got Harry's attention. "I'm sorry, sir, but what exactly do you mean by 'lumbered'?" he asked. Kingsley had the grace to blush.

"Well, Harry, it's not as if Malfoy's Animagus status is common knowledge now, is it?" he said. Harry noticed that the Minister wasn't quite meeting his eye. A feeling of weary resignation crept over him, as he cottoned on quickly to what he was being asked to do. "Not even his own parents know, and given the situation, now is hardly the most prudent of times to explain it to them- I feel that the knowledge will distress them somewhat. And Malfoy can hardly look after himself now, can he? He will end up in that rescue place legitimately this time if he's left alone. No, Harry, I think what is best is if, ah, well, what I mean to say is-"

"Sir, are you asking me to take Malfoy in?" Harry interrupted. Kingsley's blush deepened and he nodded. Harry sighed. He'd known this was coming from the moment the bloody spell had hit Malfoy, but that didn't make it any more pleasant. However, he recognised the 'request' from Kingsley as what it was- an indirect order. He nodded slowly in defeat.

"Fine," he said, "I'll take care of him. But I expect the Ministry to pay for everything he needs. I won't be out of pocket for this. And you'll need to speak with Peterson about the spell, and how it can be reversed, or whatever."

A wave of relief crossed Kingsley's face.

"That's reasonable," he said, "thank you, Harry. Now, I think you've earned a couple of hours off, don't you? Why don't you take Malfoy back to Grimmauld Place? I'll go and see what I can find out From Peterson about the spell, and I'll join you there shortly."

Harry made his goodbyes then, clutching the still sleeping Malfoy close to his chest, he turned on the spot and Disapparated.

He landed in the small room on the second floor of Grimmauld Place that he used for Apparition. He realised that Malfoy had woken up. The cat, clearly frightened by the Apparition, scrambled to get free from Harry's arms; in the process his claws nicked Harry's Auror robes, tearing the sleeve on the right side and drawing blood from Harry's arm when he tried to tighten his grip on the wretched animal.

"Ow!" Harry yelled, and instinctively loosened his grip. Malfoy instantly sprang from Harry's arms, darted across the room, and hid under the small dresser that was kept in the corner. Harry took out his wand, healed the gash on his arm, and glared at the cat.

"You can bloody well stop doing that," he said sternly. "I'm only trying to help you, you brainless prat. We've managed to work together now for a year without physically injuring each other, and I'm not about to start now, not when you're a sodding cat." Draco meowed pathetically. Harry sighed. It had been an extremely long day, and it was still only eleven in the morning.

Harry was in the living room, watching crap daytime TV, when Kingsley arrived by Floo just after one. He dusted the soot from his robes and sat down. Harry reached for the television remote and switched off the set.

"Where's Malfoy?" Kingsley asked.

"Hiding," Harry said. "He's been under the dresser in that old study since we arrived. I don't think he likes Apparition very much."

"Well, there's some good news at least," said Kingsley. "I've spoken to Peterson and have identified the spell and, despite its wording, it has not made Malfoy's situation permanent, thank Merlin. The spell has a finite period of time in which it is active, after which time it simply ends. One calendar month from today, he will return to his human state. Until that time, well, he will continue to have all the instincts and behaviours of a cat."

"I'll pencil it onto my calendar," Harry said drily. "Fifteenth of February 2005, Draco Malfoy becomes a twat again."

Kingsley gave a small chuckle.

"They're expecting you in the Auror Office," he said. "You need to fill out a report. Don't worry about identifying Malfoy as an Animagus; I've had to tell Robards anyway. I suggest you then pick up some supplies for the month. On the Ministry, of course. I'll stay here with Malfoy."

Harry stood, realised too late he had forgotten to repair the tear in his robes when Kingsley's eyebrows rose, and sheepishly cast _Reparo_ over the sleeve before grabbing a handful of Floo powder from a jade green box that Ginny had given him once the renovations to Grimmauld Place had been completed eighteen months earlier, and tossed it into the fireplace. He stepped into the flames, called out his destination, and disappeared.

Three hours later, he emerged from the Ministry feeling grumpy and fed up, but at least that he had accomplished something. He had given a detailed report as to the morning's events, signed his name in thirty-three different spaces on seven separate sheets of parchment, and was just looking forward to returning home and grabbing a very late lunch/early dinner when he remembered he still had to buy stuff for Malfoy. With a sigh he turned on the spot, arriving in the delivery bay of a large Muggle retail park on the outskirts of Birmingham he had investigated once, where he knew there was a huge pet shop. He made his way to the front of the shops, walked past two DIY stores and a large sofa shop that seemed to have a perpetual sale on, and reached the entrance to Pets at Home. He dug in his trouser pocket, found a solitary pound coin, and pushed it into the slot of the first shopping trolley in the stack. The trolley sprung free, and Harry wheeled it into the shop, only just managing to resist the urge to draw his wand and correct the wonky front wheel that made steering the bloody thing very difficult.

Having never owned any animal other than Hedwig before, Harry didn't know where to begin, so started simply wondering up and down every aisle, picking stuff off the shelves as he deemed necessary. He filled the trolley with the essentials: a large multipack of Whiskas, a bag of dried kibbles, water bowl, food bowl, cat bed. And, because the Ministry was paying, not him, Harry also put in a huge scratching post, some toys, and- because he could, and he knew it would piss Malfoy off if he knew- a collar in red and gold stripes, that reminded him of his Gryffindor scarf.

Then he entered an aisle that made his mouth turn dry. The litter tray aisle. Harry pulled what he was quite sure was a repulsed face. Why hadn't this occurred to him when he agreed to take the bloody cat in? He was going to have to clean up the cat's shit. _No, _his brain dutifully corrected, _you're going to have to clean up Draco Malfoy's shit_. Which was a whole other load of disgusting that Harry really didn't want to think about. He looked at the prices of cat litter, then, deciding that he didn't care because he wasn't paying for it, he added in the largest, heaviest sack of cat litter the shop did, deciding there and then he would simply Vanish the entire contents of the litter tray every day, rather than the 'remove solid waste daily, and completely empty the tray at least once a week' that the pack instructed. He was not, _not_, picking up his schoolboy nemesis' faeces. He just wasn't. For good measure he threw a huge tub of cat litter freshener into the trolley, then headed to the checkout.

He balked slightly when the cashier gave him the total, but shot her a smile and reached for his wallet. He took out a few notes, handed them over, and pocketed his paltry change from a hundred pounds. He then wheeled the trolley outside, and wondered how in the name of Merlin's mother's saggy tits he was going to get the stuff home. He couldn't just Apparate from the car park with about sixty Muggles all within close proximity. The trolley had some sort of anti-theft device in it, meaning Harry couldn't remove it from the car park and return to the loading bay to Disapparate, and the contents were far too heavy to lift by hand. Swearing under his breath, he drew his wand slightly and cast a Notice Me Not spell before deciding that Pets at Home would have to do without this particular trolley, and he Apparated away, taking the trolley and its contents with him.

It wasn't one of his better ideas. The old study he arrived in was very small, and Harry managed to wedge himself between the trolley, wall, and the dresser that Draco had hidden under earlier. The fact that there was no frightened meow emitting from underneath it meant that he'd finally moved. Extremely embarrassed by the fact that he had got himself stuck in his own bloody study, Harry turned in the small amount of space he had and Apparated three feet across the room, so he was no longer wedged in. Then he realised he was on the second floor and had to lug the heavy shopping down two flights of stairs.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he said aloud, before once again drawing his wand and Levitating the contents behind him as he made his way downstairs. It was all extremely heavy and required Harry's full concentration to hold the spell. He was panting slightly from exertion by the time he dumped the contents in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs.

He found Kingsley in the living room, standing stiffly and looking extremely agitated.

"Malfoy's missing," he said in response to Harry's questioning look. "I went up to check on him about half an hour after you left, and he wasn't under the dresser anymore. I've looked all over the house, except for your bedroom, but the door is closed so he can't be in there anyway. I just have no idea where he is."

"Oh wonderful," Harry said. "He's been a cat less than six hours and we've already lost the git."

They spent the next hour looking for Malfoy. Harry searched his bedroom anyway, to no avail, whilst Kingsley pulled out every single drawer to every piece of furniture Harry owned. There was no sign. Harry didn't understand it; all the windows in the house were closed, and they had checked anywhere he could have squashed into.

"You don't think that, somehow, he returned to his human form and went home, do you?" Harry asked hopefully. Kingsley shook his head.

"No, he's definitely going to be a cat for a month," he said. "More to the pity."

They made their way into the kitchen to make tea. Or, more accurately, for Harry to make tea, whilst Kingsley sat at the kitchen table, looking older than his years. Harry made the tea and slid a mug towards him. Kingsley accepted it gratefully.

"When I became Minister, I thought I'd be more involved in agendas such as Wizengamot reform, not looking for idiots stuck in their Animagus form," he said, taking a large gulp of tea. "If we've lost him… this is going to be a tad embarrassing, not to mention incur a lot of paperwork for us both."

Harry swallowed his own mouthful of tea and opened his mouth to reply, but he never got the chance. A loud scratching noise from the top of the kitchen cupboards drew both his and Kingsley's attention, and the next second what appeared to be a furry white cannonball shot from it and landed squarely on Kingsley's shoulders, claws dug firmly into the flesh in a desperate scramble to hold on. Grunting in pain, Kingsley swiped at the mass of fur, sending it catapulting to the floor, where it charged out of the kitchen, its claws scratching against the wooden floor Harry had fitted two years ago. Both men stared at the doorway in shock.

"I think we found Draco," Harry said eventually. Kingsley could only nod numbly in agreement.

* * *

Twenty minutes and half a bottle of Dittany later, Kingsley's shoulders were repaired, Draco had been found (again) and shut in the dining room, and Harry was wondering how it was still the same day from when he was sat on the park bench eating a bacon sandwich. It seemed like a lifetime ago. His stomach gave a large growl then, as if to remind him exactly of the fact it had been hours since he last ate, and his mouth watered in anticipation of the fat, juicy rump steak he'd treated himself to from the butcher's yesterday that was to be tonight's dinner. Kingsley bid Harry a slightly irritated farewell, as if it was his fault that the damn cat had ripped his skin to shreds, and disappeared through the fireplace, muttering about having to stay late all evening catching up on his work after spending the day 'chasing after a bloody feral animal', and Harry went to the dining room to let Draco out. He was rewarded with a huge purr as the cat entwined himself in Harry's legs as he walked, nearly tripping him several times.

"You hungry, Draco?" he asked.

"Meow," said Draco.

Harry led Draco, still weaving dangerously between his legs, into the kitchen, and pulled his steak out of the refrigerator to come up to room temperature before cooking. While he waited, he set up the litter tray and placed it at the far end of the kitchen, away from all the food. Draco immediately jumped onto it and began to dig in the litter, before squatting down in the hole for a few seconds. He then covered the mess with clean litter and jumped back out. Harry took a deep breath, pointed his wand at the tray, and said, "_Scougify_." He then topped the tray up with more litter, washed his hands, and filled one of the new dishes with water. Then he put a small handful of kibbles into a bowl, and opened the box of Whiskas.

"Do you want poultry, duck, rabbit or lamb?" he asked Draco.

"Purr," said Draco. Harry selected one of the pouches at random- duck, as it turned out- and squeezed the vile-looking chunks of meat and jelly into the bowl with the kibbles. He Summoned a place mat out of one of his kitchen drawers, laid it on the floor, and placed both the food and water bowls on top.

"Dinner!" he said. Draco swaggered over to it, had a sniff, and then looked at Harry as if to say, 'You really think I'm going to eat that shit?'

Harry ignored him, thinking that if Draco got hungry enough, he would eat. He busied himself by pouring olive oil into a cast iron frying pan and turning on the burner. He waited until the oil began to sizzle and crack, then placed his steak into the pan, salivating at the delicious smell of pan-cooked steak.

Apparently his new furry friend appreciated the aroma too. The bowl of Whiskas and kibbles was still untouched.

"OK, you," Harry said, deciding that if relenting on the food on Draco's first night as a cat would make it easier for him then it was worth doing, "how about some fish? Cats are supposed to like fish, right?"

He flipped his steak over in the pan and grabbed a bag of salad from the fridge. Then he opened his cupboard and took out a tin of tuna in spring water. With a flick of his wand he removed the lid from the can, and held it out for Draco to sniff. Draco pressed his nose to the can, glared at Harry, then turned round, giving Harry an unwanted yet crystal-clear view of the cat's genitalia.

"It's this or nothing," Harry told Draco firmly. "Because that steak is _mine_."

He turned off the burner and slid the steak onto a plate. He threw a handful of the salad onto the side and placed the plate on the table. Then he turned to the breadbin and cut himself two thick slices of crusty bread. He turned back to his steak, and swore loudly. It wasn't there. Harry's eyes darted to the floor quickly, where Draco was attacking Harry's steak with gusto, evidently having nicked it from the plate while he was facing away from him, cutting the bread.

"Draco! You fucking little thief!" Harry yelled, so loudly that the cat jumped in alarm and his ears went back. "I turn my back for thirty seconds and you steal my steak!"

"Meow," Draco cried pitifully. His grey eyes widened, and Harry felt his anger relenting. _Bloody manipulative cat…_

"Fine," he said. "Fine. But don't you ever do that again. It's Whiskas or starve, you hear me? And when you're human again you're replacing that steak."

"Purr," said Draco, and tore another strip of steak off with his teeth. Harry sighed and made himself a tuna sandwich with the opened tin, his cut slices of bread, and the salad leaves. It wasn't the same as a perfectly cooked, juicy steak, he lamented, as he bit into it. February the fifteenth couldn't come quickly enough.

* * *

After his dinner of not steak, Harry cleaned up the kitchen quickly, then decided to relax with some television. It was still early evening and nothing much was on except mind-numbing soap operas, most of which seemed to consist entirely of characters shouting at each other and accusing their siblings of sleeping with their spouses. He began to channel hop, eventually settling on a nature documentary. He laid on the sofa, resting his head on a plump cushion, and began to watch.

"Meow!"

Draco ran into the living room and jumped onto Harry. Harry swore at the cat and pushed him off, tired from his exhausting day, but apparently Draco was not to be deterred. He jumped back up again and laid himself flat against Harry's chest, purring, obscuring Harry's view of the television screen. Harry was getting annoyed now; aside from feeling tired and just wanting to unwind for an hour or so before grabbing an early night, Harry really didn't want to spend his leisure time petting Draco Malfoy, cat or not. First he'd had to clean up his crap. Then he'd had to feed him his steak. He drew the line at tickling a former Death Eater- albeit a coerced and completely reformed one- under the chin.

"I'm not doing it," Harry said sternly, as Draco kneaded Harry's casual jumper with his paws and tilted his chin up in a plea for attention. He turned those huge begging quicksilver eyes on Harry, and once again Harry felt his resolve crack; Draco really did make a beautiful cat. "Malfoy, I'm not… oh, for God's sake." Harry reached down with one hand and began to scratch. Draco purred loudly in victory, curled into a ball, and fell asleep. Harry vaguely wondered if Human Draco was this demanding with the people he was closest with. Had the child Draco demanded cuddles and tickles from his parents? Somehow, Harry couldn't see Lucius as the type to play tickling games with his son. What about lovers, Harry thought. Did Draco demand to be touched, how hard, how fast, all the time digging his nails into his lover's back as he arched into their caress…

He bolted upright from the chair, causing Draco to hiss and jump from his lap. Where the bloody hell had that thought come from? He checked his watch. It was only just eight, but he'd got very little sleep the night before, plus he had worked all weekend. He picked up the TV remote and switched off the set, took the cat basket out of its wrappings and set it near enough to the fire that Draco would be warm all night, and extinguished the candles with a wave of his wand.

"You sleep here," Harry told Draco firmly. He picked the cat up and placed him into the bed. "I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Malfoy. Oh, and tomorrow, I'm collaring you."

He had just got into his bed and was seriously contemplating a nice long wank when he heard scratching on his bedroom door, followed by a pitiful, heartbroken feline cry. Swearing loudly and willing away the bulge that had formed in his boxers, Harry flung himself back out of bed, shivering as the cold January air touched his skin, and opened the door.

"What?" he yelled. "Draco, go back downstairs. Now." He closed the door and climbed back into his warm bed. Several minutes of silence passed, and Harry was just beginning to think his unwelcome house guest had got the message, when the scratching started up again.

Desperate now to just _sleep_, Harry opened the door once more and, without a word, let the cat in. Draco snaked around Harry's ankles, purring, then jumped up onto the bed. He immediately settled himself in the spot Harry had just vacated, and therefore the warmest, comfiest spot, and immediately fell asleep. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The latter seemed more likely, though.

"Bastard," he said quietly, then climbed into the cold side of the bed, pulled the duvet over himself, and finally fell into oblivion.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for the reviews and alerts!_

* * *

**Part Three**

Harry was awoken far too early the next morning by the sound of purring and the sensation of something hairy rubbing against his cheek. He started at the unexpected feeling, before groggily remembering the day's previous events. _Oh, right. Draco Malfoy is my pet cat for a month. And he slept in my bed last night, which isn't weird at all. _The room was still pitch black; Harry scrambled for his glasses on the table next to his bed, shoved them onto his nose and glanced at the luminescent alarm clock next to his wand. It was seventeen minutes past six. Harry groaned, roughly shoved an undeterred Draco away from him, and rolled over in bed, desperate for another hour's sleep before he had to get up for work.

He should have known that would be impossible. Draco continued to nip, paw, and rub against Harry until he yelled, "Fine!" and tossed off the duvet, got out of bed, and threw on his dressing gown, before heading down the stairs to make the breakfast that Draco so clearly wanted. Draco followed instantly, purring loudly, and almost tripping Harry over at the top of the stairs.

"I _will_ kick you if you do that again," Harry told the cat firmly. "That's if you've not sent me flying down the stairs and broken my leg first." They entered the kitchen. Harry sleepily filled the kettle and placed it onto the stove, changed Draco's drinking water, and filled his food bowl with kibbles. Then, stomach dry heaving slightly at the sight, he flicked his wand at the litter tray at the end of the kitchen and said, "_Evanesco_." He breathed a sigh of relief as the litter and its contents Vanished, then he cast another Cleaning Charm to give it a good clean, and added more litter. _Only thirty more mornings to go,_ he thought to himself grumpily, as the kettle on the stove whistled. Harry threw some instant coffee granules into a mug and poured on the boiling water. He sat down at the table, and looked over at his feline house guest. And swore loudly.

Draco had not touched his kibbles. Indeed, Harry thought, the bloody cat actually had the audacity to glare at him.

"Kibbles not good enough for the great Draco Malfoy, huh? Fine. Starve," he yelled, his temper rising, then stormed back upstairs to the bathroom. The day had not started well, he thought, as he brushed his teeth and switched the shower on. The hot water had the desired effect, however, as it cascaded over his naked body, soothing his tense muscles and fully waking him up. He allowed himself the luxury of a full twenty minutes under the spray before he reluctantly rinsed the soap suds from his body and hair and shut off the water. He dried himself roughly with a towel and dressed quickly in his Auror robes. He made his way back to the kitchen, where Draco still sat, his tail swishing in great annoyance, but he had a sad expression on his feline face. The bowl of kibbles was still untouched. Harry felt himself give in. He guessed years of being underfed at the Dursleys had made him a pushover when it came to food, and he couldn't bear to see the cat go hungry, even if he did have a bowl of perfectly edible, if admittedly horrible, cat food at his feet.

"OK," he said. "But this is the last time, alright? You'll bloody well eat Whiskas tonight or you won't eat." He didn't believe the words himself as he began to scramble a couple of eggs in a pan with some double cream, and decided that the Ministry could sodding well pay for his pompous guest's food bill while he was here too. He slid the mixture onto a clean saucer and placed in front of the cat, who attacked the eggs greedily, as if he had not eaten for days, his white neck stretched as he ate from the plate. Harry smirked.

"_Accio_ collar," he said, and the red and gold strip of glittering fabric that he had purchased the day before slammed into his hand. Harry opened it and adjusted the strap. While Draco was still eating, Harry slipped it around his neck.

"Perfect. Just like a proper little Gryffindor," he said with a smile. Draco continued to devour his food, apparently unaware of his new accessory. Harry shot a Warming Charm at the cold cup of coffee on the kitchen table, gulped it in four mouthfuls, and unpeeled a banana, which he ate while he read his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ that had been delivered when he was in the shower. Peterson and Brockway's arrest had made the news. Kingsley had somehow managed to keep Draco's name and situation out of the paper, but Harry had been credited as the Auror responsible for the arrest.

"I'm in the paper over our case," he said to Draco when he'd swallowed his mouthful of banana. He looked up. Draco had finally finished eating, and was now busying himself with grooming. Harry watching with a mixture of amusement at interest. Draco methodically washed every inch of his sleek snowy body he could reach with his pink, sandpaper-rough tongue: his paws, tail, his back, his stomach, and between his legs…

"Oh," said Harry in embarrassed surprise. "You can, um, lick your own dick then." He tried not to stare for a few seconds, then added, "Lucky bastard." He made his way into the living room then, tossed a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace, and went to work.

* * *

This pattern continued for the next four days. Harry had finally abandoned his half-arsed attempt to feed Draco the cat food on the third day, and had delivered the huge bundle of unopened Whiskas and kibbles to the RSPCA where Draco had been 'rescued' to so many times; a thank you, he said, for looking after his cat, and would the food come in handy to them? The staff at the Ark thanked him for his generosity, and Harry felt glad that the food wouldn't go to waste, at least.

Draco was, Harry thought, possibly the best fed cat in London. He had had scrambled eggs for breakfast every morning and had dined on poached fillet of cod, grilled chicken breasts, and pan-seared pork tenderloins in the evenings, in addition to the rump steak he had eaten on Monday. He was also having lamb cutlets for dinner that evening. Harry had explained the situation to Kingsley, using more than a little emotional blackmail as he did so, and Kingsley had reluctantly agreed to fund Draco's extravagant food bill for the month. And if Harry was taking advantage of it too, well, he considered it only a fraction of what he was owed for actually looking after the cat in the first place. He had eaten better in the past week than he had for ages; usually it was dried noodles or a takeaway in the evening for him.

He arrived home and stepped out of his fireplace at exactly five on Friday evening, feeling pissed off and sore. Robards, in a spiteful fit of revenge for Harry's failure to inform him that one of his Aurors was an Animagus, had assigned Harry the task of training the new recruits in jinxes, and by 'training', Robards meant 'volunteering to be hit by them'. Harry was tired, hungry, and just wanted a long, hot soak in the bath and his bed. He was extremely glad it was Friday and he wasn't working the weekend shift this week.

"Lo, Draco," he said softly to the bundle that was curled up sleepily on the sofa by the fire, evidently having been awoken by Harry's arrival.

"Meow," Draco said in reply. He yawned, stretched out his paws and arched his back, before curling back up into a ball and falling back to sleep. Harry chuckled.

"You just stay there and sleep. I expect you've had an exhausting day," he said drily. He peeled off his sweaty Auror robes and headed to his bedroom, tossing the robes into the laundry basket on his way.

He had just finished running his bath, with a special bubble bath containing eucalyptus, lavender, and essence of Dittany (and which he'd rather die than admit to Ron he used), when Draco came tearing into the bathroom. Harry quickly fastened the towel around his bare midriff.

"Look," he said, "just because I have to look at you washing your own bits doesn't mean you get to see mine, alright? Go back downstairs or something, while I have a bath. I'll cook dinner later."

"Meow!" Draco said. He sounded slightly frantic, and looked agitated. Harry's instinct prickled.

"OK," he sighed. "Give me a second." He unwillingly threw his dressing gown back on, stared wistfully at the hot, bubbly water, and headed back downstairs.

He saw straight away what had upset Draco. Hermione's head was in his fireplace.

"Harry!" she said, before Harry had a chance to get a word in edgeways, "why aren't you ready? We are supposed to meet in ten minutes. And did I just see a white cat in your living room?"

Harry stared blankly at her. Meet? His confusion clearly showed, however, as Hermione sighed deeply.

"Oh, Harry, you forgot, didn't you?" she said. "I told Ronald that Robards has been working you too hard this week, what with Malfoy confined to his Manor with flu, and that perhaps we should postpone this evening, but he insisted that a night out would be good for you." She looked miserable. "I'll tell Ron you can't make it then, shall I?"

Harry ran through his internal Filofax that had been his week. _Wednesday, meeting with Robards. Thursday, send official yet untruthful Ministry owl to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, informing them that their son is away on secret Auror work and currently un-contactable. Friday… bugger. Friday, dinner with Ron and Hermione in Diagon Alley._ Harry groaned inwardly. He had completely forgotten. It was on the tip of his tongue to agree to reschedule, but the look on his friend's face, combined with the fact that he'd had a very long, strange week, and dinner with two of his favourite people seemed like a really lovely idea, meant he fought the refusal back.

"No, Hermione, it's fine," he said, a genuine smile on his face. "I really want to see you both. But I am really tired. Would you mind coming here instead? We can get a Chinese or something."

"Of course not," Hermione beamed. "Oh, and you don't mind if I bring a friend from work, do you?" Harry opened his mouth to say, actually, he did mind, but Hermione shot him that manipulating puppy-dog expression again and he found himself giving in and agreeing. Merlin, he was even too tired to stand his ground.

"Give me an hour. Floo through at half seven," Harry replied. Hermione nodded, and her head disappeared from his fireplace. Harry swore loudly, stomped upstairs and emptied his bath, and jumped in the shower quickly instead. Five minutes later, and hair dripping droplets of water all over his wooden floor, Harry began manically applying Cleaning Charms to his grubby house. He was normally fairly house proud, but he just hadn't had the time or inclination for housework this week. At twenty-eight minutes past seven, he stood in his living room, dressed in a clean pair of jeans and shirt, his hair was combed and as tidy as it ever was, and his house was free from a week's worth of _Daily Prophet_ newspapers, dust and dirt. He had even changed the litter again and Scourgified the tray, despite doing so that morning. He noticed with a wince that he was already more than halfway through the huge bag.

At exactly half past seven, the flames in his fireplace roared and Ron, followed swiftly by Hermione and a woman he didn't know, entered his house. The woman was elaborately dressed in a black cocktail dress which had a low neckline- offering more than a hint of cleavage- black stiletto shoes, and her face was heavily made up. Around her neck she wore a string of pearls, and had obviously gone to a lot of effort with her appearance, which Harry thought was completely over the top, given the fact that they were just getting a takeaway in his house. Harry could smell her perfume- spicy and perhaps citrusy- from across the room. It was overpowering, overly feminine, and Harry found it very unpleasant. With sickening comprehension, he realised that his friends were trying to set him up with the woman. He glared at Ron, who had the grace to look abashed. Hermione gave him a quick hug he didn't return then beckoned him over to meet Hermione's companion.

"Harry, this is Jaqueline Samuels, who works in DMLE with me. Jackie, this is Harry Potter."

The woman giggled and blushed as she offered her hand to Harry, who politely shook it rather than kiss it, as she had clearly wanted him to do.

"I know who you are of course, Harry," she gushed, and giggled again and fluttered her eyelashes as him. Harry stared at her and blinked, wondering why the fuck Hermione had brought a bloody _fangirl_ into his home. She held his hand for a few seconds longer than etiquette demanded, and Harry had to forcibly pull it out of her grip.

"Um, right. Drinks!" Ron announced, obviously sensing danger. He disappeared into Harry's kitchen and reappeared with a bottle of wine and glasses for the ladies, and a six-pack of Kronenbourg for him and Harry.

"Mate," he said. "Why is there a cat's litter tray in your kitchen?"

Draco's timing was impeccable, Harry had to give him that. Ron's words were barely out of his mouth when he slinked into the room, clearly looking for a sofa to curl up on. He caught sight of the stranger and swished his tail in warning. Jacqueline squealed as she spotted Draco, causing Harry to shiver as the shrillness of her voice permeated his brain, and bent down and scooped the white cat into her arms.

"Oh, you're just so precious," she cooed, as she brought Draco up to her face and clucked at him. "I could just eat you, I could, oh yes, you're so- OW!" She dropped Draco as, clearly irritated by the woman's fussing, he swiped at her face with a paw, leaving a noticeable angry red line down her left cheek. Harry was torn between mortification and great amusement.

"Um, guess that answers your question," Harry said to Ron, and he could have sworn that Ron's lips twitched, but straightened instantly from a stern look from his fiancée. "I have a cat."

Jacqueline glared at Draco. Draco glared back.

"So, what's its name, then?" Hermione said, reaching down to scratch Draco's ears. Draco hissed in warning, which couldn't have said, 'Stay the fuck away from me' any clearer if he'd said the words aloud. Fortunately for Harry, however, Hermione appeared to be a lot cleverer than her friend and instantly heeded the warning. She calmly withdrew her hand and stood back up. "Unfriendly little creature, isn't it?"

"He can probably smell Crookshanks on you," Harry lied. "He's perfectly nice to me. And, um, he hasn't got a name yet. He's new." By now Harry was desperately wishing he had a Time-Turner and could go backwards an hour and put Hermione off coming over after all. He really hadn't thought the evening through properly at all. One tiny slip-up and Hermione would have all this figured out in a heartbeat, Harry just knew it.

"You should call him Godric," Ron said, fingering the material around Draco's neck. "He already has a Gryffindor collar on. Plus he's a cat, and lions are cats too."

Draco meowed in protest and his hair stood up on end. Harry laughed, thinking that would be exactly what he would call Draco every time the blasted animal was around his friends. He knew it would seriously piss Draco off once he was back to his human form, and that was all the more reason to do it, in Harry's opinion. Especially when Jacqueline scoffed at the idea.

"You know what, Ron? I think I will. Come along, _Godric_, time for dinner."

He quickly seared the lamb cutlets, feeling deeply embarrassed that his friends and Jacqueline could probably hear him cooking for a cat, and served them swiftly before returning to the living room. Thankfully, no one commented on the smell of grilled lamb coming from his kitchen, although Ron did raise an eyebrow. Harry distracted him quickly by producing the Chinese menu, and the foursome began to select dishes. Once everyone had made their selections, he disappeared to the Chinese a short walk away, and returned half an hour later with the food. Ron had collected plates and cutlery while he was gone, and he and Hermione dished the food out between the four of them. Harry put an album on his stereo, and they began to eat. He groaned inwardly when Jacqueline sat closely to him on the two-seater sofa, and shuffled closer to the armrest on his side. He noticed with utter disdain that she'd hitched up the hem of her dress to show more thigh than was usually considered decent. Harry rolled his eyes. He was so going to have words with his best friends about this.

"What is this racket?" Jacqueline asked through a mouthful of chow mein, as the music began to play.

"Muse," Harry replied. "They're a Muggle band. I think they're good."

"Celestina Warbeck is better. You can't beat _A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love_," Jacqueline replied. Harry was beginning to like this woman less and less. He forced a smile at her and flicked his wand at the stereo, turning the volume up on _Plug in Baby_. Why in the name of Merlin's gonads had Hermione thought for a second he'd even want this woman in his home, let alone his bed? They clearly had nothing in common. He picked up his second bottle of beer, from which he'd barely taken a sip, and downed the contents. If he had to endure this woman's company for the next two or three hours, he bloody well needed alcohol in his system.

Harry managed to endure the next half an hour in relative peace, until Draco re-entered the room and, spotting Harry, jumped on his lap and began to purr. Harry began to absently scratch him behind the ears and under the chin, while Draco kneaded him with his paws.

"He is a pretty cat," Hermione said. Harry wondered what Hermione would say if she knew she'd just referred to Draco Malfoy as 'pretty'.

Jacqueline had finished eating now, and her hand, scarlet nails and all, slunk across the sofa and tried to rest on Harry's knee. Draco swatted the hand away with his paw. He clearly liked the woman about as much as Harry did. Harry chuckled, but Jacqueline looked furious. She pushed Draco away roughly, and tried once more to grope Harry's leg. This time Draco nipped her hand, and she pulled it away sharply.

"Harry," she said sternly, "that is the third time your animal has gone for me. Can't you lock it in the cupboard under the stairs or something while you have company?" Harry laughed incredulously, but inside his fragile temper had just about snapped. Boy, had that woman just said exactly the wrong thing. The harsh intake of breath from across the room told him that both Ron and Hermione were well aware of this fact too.

"You know," he said icily, really not in the mood to play the perfect host any longer, "cats are an excellent judge of character. If they don't like someone, there's usually a very good reason for it."

Jacqueline looked completely shocked.

"Locking up is the best thing for a feral beast like that," she insisted. "It's just a nuisance."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but knew if he said something now, he'd end up saying something he really regretted. Jacqueline's words had hit a little too close to home.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Hermione said quickly, standing from her own chair and hastily placing her glass of wine and empty plate on the coffee table. "Harry, you've had a long week, and I know you're tired, and-"

"Hermione, do not put this one on me," Harry said. "You heard what she said. I'm grateful for the effort you've gone to here, sort of, but I'm perfectly capable of finding myself a date if I want one, thank you very much. And I would appreciate it if you would not invite any more strange women into my home, OK? Ms Samuels is leaving now." He picked up her handbag and passed it to her quickly. "Sorry, but I just don't think we're compatible," he added, voice laden with sarcasm.

"I don't get it," Jacqueline whined to Hermione. "All I asked him to do was lock his cat away."

Ron shot Harry a look of pure embarrassment.

"I think we should probably go too, 'Mione," he said. "Sorry, mate."

Jacqueline took a pinch of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace.

"You were not I dreamt you'd be, Harry Potter," she said sadly. Harry sneered at her.

"Yeah, well, you know what they say," he replied. "You should never meet your heroes. You'll only be disappointed." She disappeared. Harry turned on his friends.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Hermione said. "At work she's always seemed so nice. She mentioned she wasn't seeing anyone at the moment, and did I know any single men I could perhaps fix her up with. She hadn't even ever mentioned you, not to me anyway. I wasn't trying to get her a date with Famous Harry Potter, I promise. I just thought you might have got on and had a good time together." Harry could see she was close to tears, and felt his anger ebb.

"It's OK," he said. "Those comments about the cupboard wouldn't have been half as bad if I hadn't have had to live in one at the Dursleys for ten years. I guess she wasn't to know anything about that. I still don't think I would like her though, even if she hadn't have said what she did." He gave Hermione a hug and she gave him a watery smile, and threw her own pinch of Floo powder into the fire.

"Bye, Harry," she said. "Goodbye, Godric. I'll bring you a toy mouse with catnip next time I come."

"He'll adore that," Harry replied drily. "Bye, Hermione."

Once she'd disappeared into the Floo Network, Ron turned to Harry.

"I had no idea Hermione had invited her until about half an hour before we arrived," he said. "I don't know what she was thinking. Sorry again, Harry."

"Just please tell your fiancée to stop setting me up," Harry said. "I don't want or need her to find me a girlfriend."

"Well, when was the last time you got laid?" Ron asked. Harry's eyes narrowed again. "Not that it matters, of course! But we just don't want you to be lonely, OK?"

"I'm not lonely. I have Godric," Harry replied automatically, then, to his surprise, realised he meant it. It had been nice, having another body around in the evenings for the last few days, even if it was Malfoy, who, when he wasn't demanding food or head rubs, was actually good company. The cat purred and rubbed against Harry's legs smugly. Ron looked at the cat.

"He is mental, that one. Those grey eyes look evil," he said. "Bye, mate. See you Monday."

Once Ron, too, had disappeared, Harry gave a huge sigh of relief and closed his fireplace. The evening had been a total failure.

"Just you and me, Puss," he said, sinking back into the sofa. Draco jumped straight into his lap and curled up. Harry stroked him affectionately. "You were superb with that cow. For the first time since this whole mess started, I am glad you're here, Draco."

"Meow," Draco said, with a contented yawn, which Harry interpreted as, 'me too.'

* * *

"You could just tell them you're gay," Ginny said on Saturday morning, once Harry had finished describing the Evening from Hell to her. "They're not going to drop dead from a heart attack, you know, and it means they'd stop trying to set you up with women."

Harry took a long sip from his overpriced toffee nut latte with whipped cream. It was nice enough, but three Galleons for one cup of coffee was ridiculous, even if there were mini marshmallows. It was why Ginny was paying, given she'd insisted on the stupid Muggle-style coffee shop in the first place for their catch-up.

"Gin, we've been over this," he said. "What's the point in telling them, when there's nothing to tell? It's not as if I've ever acted on it, is it? And what happens if Ron goes ballistic or something, and I lose him, and for what? The fictional boyfriend that I don't actually have and will probably never have?"

Ginny actually laughed then. She reached over and held his hand.

"If you think he'd be anything other than supportive, you're a fucking idiot, Harry Potter," she chastised. "I know my brother, okay? Ron loves you. He's not going to fly off the broom handle over this, and it's actually an insult to him for you think he'd disown you for it. To be honest, I'd be amazed if the possibility hadn't crossed his mind at least once before, anyway. What's the worst that could happen by telling him?"

"He could react like you did," Harry said.

"That was different."

"You flew off the broom handle," Harry replied, and absently rubbed the side of his face with his left hand. "You were furious."

"I wasn't that bad," Ginny said.

"Ginny, you punched me in the jaw!"

"Harry, love, how did you expect me to react? We were in the middle of sex, for Merlin's sake! One minute I'm sitting on top of you, bouncing up and down and yelling, 'Yee haw, I'm a naughty cowgirl, I'm riding you so hard, Stallion,', and the next thing I know you reach up, touch my boob, wince, and say, 'Oh fuck, I think I'm gay.' Of course I socked you one."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Harry replied, feeling his face reddening. "My timing really sucked, huh."

"Yes. I was close to coming, you sod. Finding out my boyfriend would have preferred it if I had a flat chest and a cock kind of killed the mood."

Harry didn't know how to reply to that, so he settled for dipping his index finger into the cream on the top of his coffee and licking it off.

"But we managed to come through that," Ginny said, squeezing Harry's hand reassuringly. "I forgave you for having the mother of all epiphanies while I was in the middle of shagging you, and we're still really close, aren't we?" Harry nodded. "Well, surely our situation was ten- no, a hundred- times worse than any situation in which you tell your best friends, right? And yet here I am, and I still have your back. It's got to be a breeze in comparison, telling Ron and Hermione, surely?"

"Maybe," Harry said, unconvinced.

"Have you really never, you know, done anything with a bloke?" Ginny pushed. Harry sighed.

"One drunken kiss with some Muggle about eighteen months ago," he admitted. "Apart from the three times you and I had sex, it's only ever just been me and my right hand." He suddenly felt really miserable. "I bloody hate being famous sometimes. I just want to be able to live my life and see whoever I want to without it ending up in the papers, or finding out that someone wants me for my name rather than who I am inside."

"Talk to your friends," Ginny said. She checked her watch. "Look, I've got to go, I'm meeting Nathan in ten minutes. But think about what I said, OK?" She put a few Galleons onto a saucer next to the bill, and stood up. She gave Harry a kiss on the cheek. "I'll speak to you soon."

"OK. And thanks, Ginny," Harry said. He watched her leave to meet her boyfriend, taking another sip of his extortionate coffee, and wondered just when Ginny had grown into this smart, sophisticated woman, rather than the gangly, slightly boyish figure he'd been attracted to at Hogwarts. His moment of coming out to Ginny was a memory that still made him cringe, three years on, and Ginny had rightfully been very hurt by it at the time. But she had been a rock to him since then, and had never yet let him down. He trusted her. Maybe keeping his sexual orientation to himself (and Ginny) had gone on long enough. Harry loathed to admit to himself he was scared of anything, but he was. Scared that Ron would flip and he would lose his best friend. But Ginny's words kept playing over and over in his mind: _Ron loves you… will be nothing but supportive… insult to him for you to think he'd disown you. _Harry knew Hermione would be fine, and more than likely break into a speech about the Greatest Gay Wizards in History and How They Changed Society. And Ginny was right. Harry thought over everything he and Ron had been through together: hunting Horcruxes, the loss of Fred, even the time Harry had taken a curse for Ron in the field when they were both fresh out of Auror training, and which landed him in St Mungo's for three weeks. He chastised himself for being an idiot. Yes, he decided, it was time for them to know.

_And at least they'll stop setting me up with women all the time_, his brain added. Which, of course, was just a delightful bonus.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you for all the reviews and alerts! Sorry this one is a little later than my usual updates. _

* * *

**Part Four**

Ginny's parting words to him had finally convinced him, and before he could talk himself out of it (as he had done so on occasion in the past), he made a quick visit to the post office in Diagon Alley, paid for a sheet of parchment, borrowed a quill and drafted a quick letter to Ron and Hermione asking them to visit that afternoon if they didn't have plans, sent the letter by post owl, and Apparated back home, thinking that perhaps it was time he bought himself a new owl; Hedwig had been gone for nearly eight years, after all. He decided to do so once Draco was human again. He didn't think he could cope with two crotchety animals vying for his attention at the same time. As he opened the door to his study, however, he could clearly hear the portrait of Walburga Black, screaming her usual supremacist nonsense. Harry quickly made his way down to the ground floor, where the shrieking was getting louder.

"_Filth! Scum! Mudblood freaks! Half-breed aberrations! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers!"_

Harry quickly took in the sight. There was a smashed vase which had rested on a small table Harry kept his keys and other trinkets upon. It had sent water and flowers scattering across the hallway as it hit the wooden floor, and the crash of it was obviously the cause of the portrait's awakening. Draco must have knocked it over. And he was currently staring face-to-face with the portrait, his fur up on end and tail swishing, meowing at it and attempting to scratch the painted woman within with his claws. Harry drew his wand and forced the curtains over the picture shut once more.

"_Reparo,_" he said, pointing his wand at the vase. The pieces flew into the air and knitted themselves back together, before replacing itself neatly on the table. Harry then Vanished the flowers, which had seen better days and needed throwing out anyway really, and dried the floor with another spell.

"Meow!" said Draco. "Meow, hiss, purr meow!"

Harry took that for, 'What the fuck is wrong with that picture?' He chuckled.

"Lesson learnt," he said. "Be careful when you're playing in the hallway. Otherwise you'll wake up your great aunt, or whatever relation of yours she is. Although she'd actually probably like you if you were human." He thought of towards the end of the war, where Draco saved Harry's life in the Manor, and Narcissa lied outright to Voldemort's face. "Then again, maybe not. You're probably as big blood traitors as the Weasleys to her now."

He made himself a ham sandwich for lunch while Draco had a tin of smoked mackerel pâté that Harry had bought from an overpriced, and somewhat pretentious (in Harry's opinion) Muggle supermarket, but seemed to meet with Draco's approval, and that was worth every Knut of the Ministry's Galleon to Harry. He'd just finished clearing away the lunch things and washing up when he heard his fireplace whoosh with the sound of someone Flooing in, followed quickly by Hermione's voice calling, "Harry?"

"In the kitchen," he called back. "Be right with you." He turned to Draco. "Behave," he said quietly. "I didn't mind you scratching that Jacqueline bint, but if you go for my friends then you won't be sharing my bed with me tonight."

It was only once he was in the living room, greeting his friends, that he realised what the bloody hell he'd just said. He took a second to congratulate himself on his stupidity as he returned to the kitchen to make tea. Human Draco would have ripped the piss out of him for that statement.

It wasn't as if he'd never looked at Draco in that way. Most women, and quite a few blokes, had, at one point or another. Malfoy wasn't what would probably be referred to as a 'pin up boy' in the Muggle world. His handsomeness was more elegant, more subtle than that, but it was undeniably there. Harry remembered one time when he and Ron had met up with Ginny and Hermione in the pub straight from work and had walked in with a few other Aurors who were meeting their own friends. Malfoy had been among them and Hermione, drunk on her usual three glasses of spritzer, had fired off a three minute long soliloquy about those high cheekbones, pewter, come-hither eyes and toned arms and torso.

"It's just a shame it all belongs to Malfoy, really," she'd said. "Otherwise I could really quite fancy him."

"Wow," Ron had replied. "Thank Merlin there's no one here to overhear this conversation who would get offended by your words. Really dodged the Bludger with that one, love." Harry had laughed along with the others at the time, but his gaze had lingered on the very torso Hermione had described for a split second too long, and Ginny had shot him a most knowing look, before hiding a smirk behind her own drink.

The kettle on the stove whistled, snapping Harry back to the present, and he poured the boiling water into a teapot, allowing the tealeaves to steep, and opened a packet of chocolate Hobnobs.

Draco Malfoy was openly, and proudly, gay. Harry had always admired him for that; he hadn't even had the guts to come out to his two closest friends, let alone anyone else. Obviously, Malfoy didn't have the pressures of being the Boy Who Lived and have a perpetual (or so it seemed) posse of paparazzi recording his every move as Harry did, but he had worked bloody hard to rise from being seen as nothing but an accused Death Eater to a respected and accomplished Auror (most recent debacle of a case aside, that was), especially in a wizarding society that, while not homophobic exactly, was certainly less accepting of same-sex unions than Muggle Britain. It all came down to the passing-on of magical DNA- if a witch or wizard was in a same-sex relationship then he or she was unlikely to ever have children and therefore add to the magical population, which was already fairly small.

He made to pick up the tea tray and realised his palms were sweating. He could admit to himself that he was nervous about his friends' reaction. OK, so he was more than nervous. Instead of carrying a tray with hot water on it with moist hands and risk dropping the bloody thing, Harry chose to Levitate it into the living room, where the sight that greeted him distracted him from his nerves temporarily. He placed the tray on the coffee table and grinned.

Hermione had been true to her word, and had brought a catnip-filled mouse with her for Draco to play with. And he was currently rolling around the living room carpet like he was writhing in orgasm, almost _moaning_- or as close as felines came to moaning anyway- attacking the toy mouse as if it were a feast given to a starving man.

"Godric really loves his new mouse, doesn't he?" Hermione said, smiling. "Apparently, catnip has the same effect on the feline brain as marijuana does on the human one."

"You mean you've got my cat high?" Harry asked in amusement. He crossed the room to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a rarely-used camera. Draco needed to see this once he was human again. Or, he didn't, but Harry needed Draco to see it, simply for the hilarity factor and the fact that Draco would be mortified. He snapped a few shots, then replaced the camera in the drawer. He poured the tea, took a couple of biscuits, and handed the rest of the packet to Ron, where he knew they'd only end up anyway.

"So, I, um, wanted to talk to you both," he said, his nerves returning. He took a sip of his tea and grimaced. In his nervous state he'd forgotten to add milk. _Sort yourself out,_ he chastised himself. _This isn't a big deal, OK? _He picked up the milk jug and poured some milk into his cup.

Hermione instantly sobered.

"Oh, Harry, is this about last night? Are you still angry with Ronald and me? Well, me mainly, because Ron didn't know about Jacqueline until just before we left, and- well, I'm sorry I brought her here, but I only have your happiness at heart." Harry smiled.

"No, it's not about that. Well, it sort of is, but not really. I mean, I didn't ask you here to have a go or anything. Last night just made me realise… um… oh, bloody hell." He took another sip of tea.

"Oo okay, 'ate?" Ron said, his mouth full of Hobnob.

"Yeah," Harry said uncertainly. He took a deep breath. _Now or never_. "It's just that… Hermione, even if you set me up with the perfect woman, I still wouldn't be interested in dating her. Not now, not ever. Because I don't like women. I mean romantically! I like women obviously, I'm not a misogynist, but I don't want to have sex with them. I want to have sex with men."

Well, that hadn't come out at all how Harry had rehearsed it in his mind. And it wasn't nearly as eloquent. In fact, he thought he'd just rather sounded like a class A tit. But it was out now, just like he was, and he couldn't take the words back. Hermione and Ron both froze, Ron with a half chewed biscuit visible (Harry wished he'd close his mouth), and stared at him. Even Draco stopped convulsing on the floor and looked at him, head tilted. Harry wondered exactly how much he understood in his cat form.

"You're gay, mate?" Ron said finally, once he'd swallowed the mouthful of biscuit.

"Yeah," Harry replied with an uneasy laugh. "That's kind of what I meant by 'I want to have sex with men'." The stupefied expression on Ron's face would be amusing to Harry if he wasn't so tense. A deafening silence fell across the room.

"For fuck's sake, Harry!" Ron bellowed finally, causing Harry to jump. "You've just earned me a month of performing cunnilingus on demand."

Harry blinked. "Um, what?" he said, confused. He looked at Hermione now, how was beaming.

"I told you so, Ronald," she said smugly. "Oh, Harry, I'm delighted you finally told us."

Harry had a massive feeling he was really missing something here.

"There's not a single part of this conversation I don't need explained to me," he said. Draco jumped on him then and began to knead his chest, purring. Harry scratched his head. Harry took the gesture as Draco's approval for his announcement.

"We had a bet," Ron said. "It's been going on since Christmas. Hermione reckoned she caught you ogling some bloke in the pub and said it all suddenly made sense, and I said no way. I was so sure I was right that I, um, proposed the terms of the bet. You had to come out by June, or I won. Merlin, I didn't think for a second I was going to lose it. Just think: a month of being able to demand blowjobs whenever I wanted. I was really looking forward to it." His eyes clouded over in what Harry decided was a wistful lust, and a look which Harry never wished to see on his friend's face again in his presence.

"So Hermione suspected I liked blokes, didn't say anything to me, and you made an insane and somewhat mentally disturbing- for me- bet over it," Harry summarised, really trying his best not to think about his friends in any sort of sexual contact. Eugh. "Am I following so far?" He felt rather annoyed about this, but on the plus side neither seemed to be about to disown him, and he suddenly felt ridiculous for not telling them sooner. "Hang on a minute, Hermione, if you knew I was gay, then why did you try and set me up with Jacqueline? Was this your plan? 'I'm going to set Harry up with the worst woman I can find, and it'll be so ghastly that it will finally convince him to tell us he's gay'?" He didn't bother adding that it had actually worked. Hermione already looked far too pleased with herself.

"No, Harry," she said. "Not exactly. I admit I thought that if I tried to set you up, you would eventually tell us the truth just to get me to stop, but I genuinely thought Jacqueline was OK. She has always seemed perfectly lovely at work. I wasn't trying to force you to come out by arranging some sort of horror date. Just a female one."

"So I guess this is why you and Ginny didn't work out then," Ron said. "You know, there was something odd about the, 'we have realised we are not meant to me together' reason you gave us. She already knows, doesn't she." It wasn't a question, and Harry didn't take it as one.

"Yes," he replied. "I thought she deserved to know the reason why we couldn't be together, so I told her." He conveniently left out the part about how they were shagging at the time. He didn't feel Ron would continue to be calm if he heard that. Besides, it wasn't a _lie_, exactly. It just wasn't the truth. "And she's been completely amazing about it, too. After she stopped yelling at me."

"So, is there a special man in your life?" Hermione asked, taking a Hobnob from the packet that Ron had taken possession of, and dunking it into her tea.

"No one," Harry replied. He tried to keep the resentful tone from his voice, but he didn't think he'd been very successful. Indeed, one look to both his friends' faces confirmed this. They were both looking at him in sympathy. "Not exactly easy for me to date, is it?"

"You know, Harry, there is a man in my department who's gay, maybe I-"

"No, Hermione!" Harry shouted, a little louder than he'd probably intended and causing both Hermione and Draco to jump slightly. "I appreciate the thought, I really do, but no. More. Set-ups. Clear?" He said it with a smile on his face, but his tone left no room for doubt that he meant his words.

"Crystal," Hermione replied, taking a sip of her tea. Draco began licking himself them, one leg cocked into the air while his rough pink tongue worked his abdomen. He had exposed himself fully to Harry's guests, and Harry didn't like it. Draco may be trapped in the body of a cat but it was still him, and Harry felt it was his responsibility as both Draco's temporary owner and his Auror partner to try and preserve Draco's modesty when he was incapable of doing so himself. He had just reached for the Afghan over the back of the sofa when Hermione looked at the cat and said, "Oh my, Harry, you need to have your cat neutered."

Groaning inwardly and wrapping the blanket around Draco's bits, Harry replied, "Godric is an indoor cat. It's too dangerous around here to let him out, what with the traffic around here and stuff, so it doesn't really matter if he's neutered or not as he's not coming into contact with female cats, and I've warded the house to stop him escaping." That had been one of the first things he'd done after he and Kingsley thought Draco had run off, on Draco's very first day at Grimmauld Place. "Besides," Harry added, improvising, "I'm not going to have him forever. Only until mid-February. It was a month's trial period, you see, and I just don't think I'm ready to have a cat."

"Bollocks, mate," Ron said. "Look at you both. He never leaves you alone and, Harry, you love that animal. I can tell. You need each other."

Harry didn't have a single cohesive thought to give in response to that.

* * *

Ron and Hermione ended up staying for dinner that night, where they talked more about Harry's sexual orientation amongst other things, then Harry curled up on the sofa to watch _The Fellowship of the Ring_ with Draco in his lap. Muggle films involving magic and wizardry, and magical creatures, were his guilty pleasure. He loved to spend the whole of the film praising the accuracies, and yelling at the screen when inaccuracies occurred. Gandalf always reminded him of Dumbledore, and made him feel a bit melancholy. He switched off the DVD as the credits began to roll, called for Draco to come to bed, and went through his evening routine quickly. Once he was lying in bed, Draco curled up asleep in the warmest spot, Harry went over the afternoon's events in his mind.

Coming out to his friends had left Harry feeling like a prize prat, if he was honest with himself. He had managed to conjure up scenario after scenario in his mind where his friends disowned him, or were upset with him when they found out, when, in actual fact, Ginny had been spot-on as usual. Harry even though Ron had looked a little hurt at one point, when Harry was talking about keeping it to himself. Harry had more than once chastised himself for keeping it quiet for so long. Both Ron and Hermione had given Harry a heartfelt, genuine hug when they'd left, and Ron had said in his ear, for Harry's hearing only, "Trust me in future, Harry." He fell asleep that night with a contented smile gracing his lips.

The following morning Harry treated himself to a fry-up (serving eggs and some bacon to Draco), then headed out to the shops. He stocked up on ridiculously priced food for both himself and his fussy feline from Waitrose, returned home, put it all away, then Apparated to the pet shop he'd visited on Draco's first day to stock up on items.

He pulled anther large sack of cat litter from the shelf and dumped it into his trolley, and also picked up a grooming brush. Maybe Draco would like it if Harry groomed him? Was that too weird? Harry also picked up a packet of dried catnip, and laughed to himself quietly. Watching Draco Malfoy, cool, haughty Auror, rolling around on the floor in pleasure had been extremely amusing. And Harry definitely wanted to see it again.

After lugging all the shopping back to Grimmauld Place, Harry changed the litter tray, cooked lunch, then spent the rest of his Sunday afternoon reading the _Sunday Prophet_ and watching some Muggle football match on the telly. He wished wizards had a magical equivalent of television; it would be brilliant to watch, for example, the Magpies against the Cannons on TV. Would beat having to stand in a freezing stadium with about fifty Warming Charms on him just so he could feel his toes, simply to watch a game of Quidditch, anyway. After the football he did his laundry, on which he'd become woefully behind, and cast a few quick Cleaning Charms around the house.

Grimmauld Place really was huge. Too big really, for just him. Harry wasn't lonely. He really wasn't. He had a job that he adored (when Robards wasn't being a complete bastard), good friends he loved dearly and saw frequently, and people he considered family in the Weasleys. He was genuinely happy with his life. But he couldn't help looking at Hermione and Ron, and feel jealous of them. He wanted what they had with each other, with someone. Someone who would stay home from work and make him soup when he had the flu, or scrub his back in the bath. Someone that sat up and held Harry all night after he'd been on a distressing Auror case involving a murder or other harrowing crime. Someone that Harry could kiss, and touch, and make love with, and wake up with in the morning holding. Someone he could share his life with. The huge space of Grimmauld Place just seemed to emphasise dramatically that Harry had none of those things. He realised with a jolt that he was really going to miss having Draco around, when he returned to his human form. Having another heartbeat around the house made the vast emptiness seem just that little bit smaller.

* * *

The first time Harry really, really missed Draco in his human capacity was towards the end of January, two weeks after Draco had first been trapped in his cat form. He had finally been removed from his role as the trainees' target practice (Harry strongly suspected Kingsley's intervention there) and sent out on his first field duty since the Brockway and Peterson case. Robards had teamed him with Alexandra Fairweather, a highly ambitious but standoffish witch, who greatly objected to Harry's 'act first, think later' approach. "Are you sure we should?" seemed to be her favourite saying, and after three days of being doubted and second-guessed continuously, one time which actually prevented Harry from apprehending his suspect, he found himself longing for his Slytherin partner back.

It's not something Harry ever thought he'd want. When Robards had paired him and Malfoy (who was fresh out of Auror training at the time) together, two years ago, Harry had pitched a fit. He'd appealed to Robards. He'd even appealed to Kingsley. Only his pride and sense of professionalism prevented him from trying to use the 'but I'm Harry Potter! Boy who Lived!' line. Nothing had worked, and initially, Harry had wondered just how long it would be until he and Malfoy ended up duelling one another. And the pair did have some humungous arguments, no doubt about that. But as the weeks turned into months, and they continued to be partners, Harry realised something else about himself and Malfoy. They worked extremely well together.

Malfoy was a gifted wizard, and his knowledge of barely-legal, but extremely effective, curses and hexes were second to none in the Auror department. He was nimble, athletic and fast-thinking, not to mention clever, and his work ethic complimented Harry's perfectly. They worked fluidly, instinctively, together, and had been partners long enough now to know what the other was thinking and how they were going to act in the vast majority of situations. Sure, they had had a few spectacular failures (Malfoy's current situation being the prime example) but they had had enough brilliant successes to counter this that they were considered amongst the best pair in the department. Of course they still rowed and bickered, but something else had grown between them in the two years they had worked together: trust. And, while he and Malfoy weren't exactly friends, they were no longer the enemies they had been at school, and even had a grudging respect for one another.

Harry had none of this with Miss Fairweather. And he missed it. And, worryingly, he missed Draco himself, he was beginning to realise. He missed the banter and the sarcastic remarks. He missed seeing Malfoy's arrogant face flushed and superior, glowing with triumph as he apprehended a suspect. But above all that, at this exact moment in time, he really, really missed the fact that Malfoy could aim his fucking wand accurately, which Fairweather seemed unable to do.

"_Expelliarmus_!" she cried, during their latest mission, on the first of February, which involved Harry and Fairweather chasing down the estranged husband of a woman who had turned up in St Mungo's with deep slashes in her wrists, having tried to kill herself. It had turned out that she had been under the Imperius Curse at the time, and once she came round and the curse lifted she told the Aurors that her husband had placed the spell on her and ordered her to commit suicide. The spell Fairweather cast was aimed for the husband in question, who was currently struggling with Harry in a duel (the former having snuck up on Harry while he was searching the address the victim had given), but unfortunately for Harry, her aim was off by several inches and it caught Harry squarely on his right arm. His holly wand flew in the air and landed several feet away with a loud clatter. The suspect laughed, while Fairweather froze in shock.

"Bloody women," he sneered, wand pointed straight at Harry. "Fucking bunch of incompetent sluts, the lot of them. _Diffindo._"

Harry gasped as the spell shot out of his suspect's wand and slashed his chest, causing white-hot pain to spread throughout his body. He heard Fairweather shriek and finally catch the suspect in a Full Body-bind Curse, before she rushed over to him.

"Oh God, Harry, I'm so sorry!" she said, her voice full of tears. She touched his chest for a second and, when she pulled away, Harry saw her hand was drenched in blood. His blood. Bugger. This was serious.

"I need to get you to St Mungo's," he heard Fairweather's voice saying, as his vision clouded, only to be replaced with swirling patterns of colour.

"Yeah, St Mungo's," he heard himself agree. "Um, Alexandra, can you make sure someone feeds my cat while I'm away? He likes chicken." And with that he finally gave in to the blackness.


End file.
